


let the games begin

by virgohotspot



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Also Raven hate because why not, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Echo Hate, Exes, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Guys sorry she's the worst but it's okay because she's in love, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealous Clarke Griffin, Pining, Post-Break Up, Public Sex, Sex Tapes, Shameless Smut, Toxic Clarke, pining!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgohotspot/pseuds/virgohotspot
Summary: Clarke expects Bellamy to crawl back to her after their eighth breakup. After all, that's what always happens. However, when that doesn't happen, and he shows up with a new girlfriend, Clarke's not just going to take it. This is just one of their games. A game that she intends to win, no matter what CD she has to pull out of her sleeve.Or, Clarke tries to break up Bellamy and his current girlfriend with a sex tape of the two of them.Written for The 100 Writers For BLM Initiative
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 147
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	let the games begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wapbellamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wapbellamy/gifts).



> This is a pic prompted to me for the BLM Initiative. If you'd like to submit a prompt to me or any of our other lovely writers, I have the link to the carrd in the end notes. 
> 
> This prompt was essentially: bellarke exes + sex tape. wapbellamy provided me with a very thorough prompt to complete, kind of out of my comfort zone, but it was so fun to write. I hope you all enjoy it, including wapbellamy:)

Bellamy shoves a handful of clothes from his designated drawer into the duffle bag that Clarke’s pretty sure belongs to her. She leans against the doorframe, picking at her nails, eyes flickering from her buds to Bellamy kneeling by her bed every couple of seconds. She’s so sick of this, and she’s going to make sure he knows it. There’s no sense in groveling for him to stay when he’ll be perched on her doorstep by the end of the week.

Clarke sighs deeply, her irritation exuding from the breath that she draws out. She crosses her arms over her chest as he zips the duffle bag closed. “You can’t keep doing this whenever you disagree with me, Bellamy.”

“Disagree?” Bellamy huffs, exasperation littering his voice. He stands to his feet, throwing the duffle bag over his shoulder and turning to her. “That’s all we are, Clarke. Disagreements, arguments, we get _nowhere_ every single time.”

“Nowhere?” Clarke straightens, hands dropping to her side. “We’ve been together for a year. And within this year, you’ve stormed out of my apartment with a duffle bag seven times.”

“Well, maybe eighth times’ the charm.”

“I doubt it.”

Clarke hates talking to him like this; despises having to be in this situation at all. The bags under his eyes from the two of them arguing all night, solemn expression littering his features from the reality of what this is, lips formed into an incessant frown; it’s not why she does this. It’s not why she pushes him to the edge, in constant battle with whatever ultimatum he’s setting up that night.

All she wants is for this to work; and she knows at the end of the day, they will. Ever since they met, they’ve been inseparable, unable to go a couple of weeks without communication. It’s a connection she’s experienced with nobody else, one that she yearns for with Bellamy and him only. When the flames disperse and their emotions de-escalate, they melt back into one another. It’s not destiny or fate, it’s reality. It’s who they are, always in conjunction with one another since the day they met.

Clarke can’t remember who she was before she met Bellamy. She doesn’t want to. There’s no whole to herself without him. She realizes that, acknowledges that he’s a part of her. But Bellamy, heart on his sleeve, takes everything to an extreme. And while she knows they’re always be together, words of reassurance and touches of affection fail to affirm him the way that it does her.

Bellamy tenses as Clarke steps towards him. Her hand comes up to his shoulder, the strap of the duffle bag balancing on the juncture of his neck. Her fingers ghost down from his jaw, along his neck, and he shivers under her touch. Clarke’s torso leans up against the side of him, and he stiffens. Clarke allows her fingers to flee from his exposed to skin, already missing the warmth on her fingertips, as she wraps her hand around the strap of the duffle bag and pulls it down his shoulder.

“Don’t go, Bellamy.” Clarke pleads, her voice soft. “Don’t go just to come back.”

Her duffle bag full of his clothes lands on the floor with a thump. Bellamy swivels his head around to gaze at her, Clarke’s eyes seemingly permanently locked on him. His eyes are half-lidded, and as she places her hand on his chest, she can feel the heavy beating of his heart. She knows this hurts him, and her touch must burn more feverishly than any of the words that have been exchanged tonight.

“I love you, Bellamy.” Clarke explains. “But you can’t keep doing this. Every time I disagree with you, you run. Only to crawl back–”

“It’s not just a disagreement, Clarke. You belittle what I want, where I want this relationship to go because they don’t align with what you think.” Bellamy’s voice is low, but there’s a tremble in his lower lip. “I _crawl back_ because I love you. But I don’t think that’s enough anymore.”

Clarke lets out a breath of laugh, a fusion of nerves and her heart constricting in her chest. She snakes her hand around to the back of his neck, balancing on the tips of her toes so that her lips can reach his jaw. Her mouth trails against the sharpness of his jaw, falling to the pulse point on his neck. His breath hitches as she sucks lightly on his pulse, nails digging into the back of his neck, imprinting into his skin.

He doesn’t wrap his arms around her, his limbs laying numb at his side. And that scares her. She holds him closely, her nails undoubtedly drawing blood along the back of his neck. She brings her mouth away from his skin, leaving a pattern back up his jaw to the corner of his mouth. The kiss is light, just barely brushing against his lips. Her hand comes back around to cup his cheek, and she can feel his dampened skin along her palm.

“Of course it’s enough,” Clarke whispers, desperation seeping from her tone before she can hold it back. She presses her lips against his, his mouth less than giving to her. “Come on, baby. You know I love you more than anything.”

Bellamy swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. She holds onto him tighter, if that’s even humanely possible. Just because she knows how this ends, with him and her, it doesn’t mean this part is any less painful. They can go through this scenario a million times over, it will always end with the two of them together. But this is needless, unnecessary, their proclamations of love overpowered by the technicalities of their relationship – Clarke’s so sick of it. And she knows Bellamy is, too.

Yet, he untangles her limbs from him, and steps back from her. Her chest stings, as do the tears in her eyes, and her irritation festers with her anger, with her heartbreak. She doesn’t get it, really, she doesn’t. She doesn’t understand when he doesn’t kiss her back, when his arms don’t wrap around to hold her. She fails to comprehend why he picks up the duffle bag, slings it over his shoulder and stares at her so blankly, he’s almost unrecognizable to her.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Clarke snarls. Bellamy ignores her, pushing past her into the hallway. She’s right on his feet, charging after him. “One day, I’m not going to be here when you come back!”

“I won’t be back,” Bellamy calls out to her and then, his hand is on the doorknob.

Clarke stills in the hallway, laughing bitterly. Bellamy pauses with his hand on the doorknob, and they both recognize the common phrase that utters from his lips. _He won’t be back_. Maybe it’ll be her that reaches out first, or maybe they’ll stumble across one another at one of their mutual friend’s places, but he’ll be back. That’s just how it is with the two of them; drawn together, physically unable to be apart. Clarke knows it, and Bellamy pretends that he doesn’t.

“Alright, Bellamy,” Clarke’s lighthearted tone is coated in disdain. “Keep lying to yourself. This is always going to end with you and me.”

Bellamy glances over his shoulder, a fire in his eyes that makes Clarke’s throat go dry. “Not this time.”

He throws open the door, and slams it shut behind him. The sound echoes off the walls, leaving Clarke’s ears ringing. Clarke stands in the hallway of her apartment, stare frozen on the sealed door, ears straining for his footsteps that pound down the hall. Watching him leave is never easy, even with the guarantee that he’ll be back. Her blood boils, disintegrating the beat of her heart and forcing it numb.

_He’s coming back_ , Clarke reminds herself. _He’s coming back_.

* * *

Waiting is the worst part, second is missing him.

Clarke cozies up in sweaters that he left behind still lined with his signature scent, finds forgotten trinkets of his littered across her apartment, checks his social media activity just to try and put herself in his brain, scrolls past their photos just to soak in his features. Bellamy’s always back within a couple days, and the whole process angers the fuck out of her – but she learned the first couple of times that this happened that being upset when he returned just prolonged what was inevitable – forgiving each other, endless proclamations of love and ending up in bed.

So, she waits.

Seven days, and there’s not even a text on her phone, but she’s not worried. On the tenth day, she debates calling one of their friend’s and asking about him, but decides against it. All this is, is a waiting game. And as much as she hates it, as much as she craves for Bellamy, she’s not going to be the one to give in first. Not when he’s the one that left her, _again_.

“Do you understand how unhealthy this is?” Raven asks when they’re sitting at a bar on the fourteenth day. “You know he’s going to come crawling back to you, so you don’t try to fix your shit.”

“My shit?” Clarke quirks an eyebrow. “Bellamy knew who I was when he started dating me. No surprises.”

“You’re supposed make compromises when you’re in a relationship, Clarke.” Raven scoffs, bringing her whiskey to her mouth to sip.

Clarke bites her tongue. She never asks Raven for advice, but her friend usually decides to solicit some anyway. Always invoking her two cents, even when it’s not needed or appreciated. Honestly, the last person Clarke would ever take relationship advice from is Raven. Not when she went back to the boyfriend who cheated on her for fun for a year straight.

“Well, not on this.” Clarke grumbles.

The bar is empty tonight; sprinkles of guests littering the dancefloor and perched at booths. Clarke, Raven and the rest of their friends are the only ones at the bar, hounding the bartender for drinks. Murphy’s lips are permanently attached to Emori’s as she straddles him on the end stool, and Monty and Harper are whispering to themselves not too far from Clarke and Raven.

Clarke scans the bar, chewing on her bottom lip. “Is Bellamy coming tonight?”

“He told Monty he was,” Raven sighs.

“Well, where is he, then?”

A pause, and then, “Oh, fuck. Found him.”

Raven nods her head towards the door, Clarke’s neck rapidly swiveling around in that direction. Her hand, slicked around the glass of her whiskey, tightens – and if it was humanely possible, she could squeeze it into shards. Breath caught in her throat, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, she blinks only twice to confirm what she sees.

Bellamy waltzes through the door, a leggy woman with permanently pursed lips on his arm. The woman’s eyes are on him, all doting and adoring, her hand smoothening over his tricep that she’s wrapped about. She doesn’t recognize who this bitch is, probably some whore Bellamy’s picked up off the street just to get to her. But Clarke only looks at her for the split of a second, her gaze returning to Bellamy as he scans the bar for his friends.

Clarke forces herself to relax, her stiffened limbs morphing into a poised stature; the air slips from her lungs, almost as if it’s been knocked out of her, but there’s no way she’ll let Bellamy know that. Not when his eyes land on her, an easy smirk growing across his lips. Her chest tightens, her heart pounding against its restraints and threatening to erupt.

Their friends crowd around them in greeting as Bellamy and his whore stride towards the bar. Clarke catches a glimpse of his hand around her waist, before her gaze flickers up to meet his. The smirk never fades, permanently indented into his features, and his eyes do not depart from hers, not once. Clarke brings her drink to her lips, eyeing him over the glass challengingly. He’s not the slightest bit intimidated.

“Hey guys,” Bellamy greets their friends. He tears his gaze from Clarke, glancing at the skank on his arm. “This is Echo. My girlfriend.”

* * *

Clarke is convinced she’s the most patient person on the planet. She allows Bellamy to take a seat beside her, watches as Echo slicks onto his lap right in front of her, arm dangling over his shoulder. She listens as Echo’s low, sultry voice drowns on about however the fuck she met Bellamy. She tunes in to her friends comments, all supportive yet timid, glancing between Bellamy and Clarke as Echo ever-so obliviously gushes about how great their friend, _her boyfriend_ is.

But Clarke never takes her eyes off Bellamy. Once in a while, he glances at Echo – his girlfriend – and gives her the bare minimum of attention. But then, his gaze is back on Clarke, anticipating a reaction that never comes. Even as this girl’s ass is planted in his lap, his own hand draped over her waist, Bellamy’s only concerned with Clarke. And it’s why she’s not worried.

However, she is _fucking pissed_.

When Bellamy excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Clarke uses the last urge of strength in her to wait. She’s calculating, she’s _smart_ , knows better than to make a scene or make anything obvious. Her friends may have a hunch as to where she’s going when she stands from the stool, but Echo continues to talk, unaware of the pitiful stares that are sent her way as Clarke strides towards the bathroom.

The bathrooms are hidden in a corner, secluded from the rest of the bar. Their musty, and probably haven’t been cleaned in a good couple of months, and Clarke has no intention of using them. But she has every intention of catching Bellamy, just as he slips out of the men’s bathroom.

“What the fuck, Bellamy?” Clarke hisses, charging towards him. She nearly collides with his torso, vengeance overpowering her body. “You bring that girl here to what? Embarrass me?”

She’s backed him against the door, but Bellamy’s the one with the upper hand. He stares down at her, eyes darkened as lips quirked upwards. Clarke’s chest heaves, the patience she’s been so diligently practicing slipping from her fingers, replaced with the anger, irritation, and utter frustration that she’s put on the back burner. It soaks out of her, and Bellamy feeds off it.

“Her name is Echo,” he states simply, attempting to slip past her.

Clarke’s hand wraps around his forearm, over the place _Echo_ had her own just minutes before. She keeps it there, firm, staring up at him with a challenging gaze. Bellamy stares before him, a blank expression written over his features as he sighs deeply and stumbles back to face Clarke. His smirk is gone, replaced with boredom, as if Clarke is wasting his time. She sucks in a breath, her hand dropping to her side.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Clarke manages to keep her voice even. “But this stops now. Don’t waste this girl’s time because you think you can’t have me.”

“I’m not wasting anybody’s time, Echo is my girlfriend.” Bellamy reiterates.

“We were together _two fucking weeks ago_.”

“I haven’t forgotten, Clarke.”

“Clearly, since you’re using some stranger to get to me.”

Bellamy steps forward, torso dusting against hers, staring down at her with dark, firm eyes. “Nothing that I do is because of you. Not anymore.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to smirk, as she stares back at him with a newfound amusement in her eye. Irritation subsides into realization, and she shakes her head tauntingly, never once breaking her gaze from him. “That poor girl. You don’t even like her.”

“What if I’m happy with her?” Bellamy challenges. “Did you ever think of that?”

“You’re not,” Clarke shrugs. “Because she’s not me.”

“Get over yourself, Clarke,” Bellamy huffs.

Clarke nudges forward, her hands snaking their way up Bellamy’s arms. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn his stare or make an effort to push her away. He just stares, relishes in her touch as she smoothens over his limbs. She tilts her mouth upwards, feeling the heat of his breath slick against her lips.

Mere inches away from one another, she could kiss him right now. Allow his lips to deepen against hers while their friends and his girlfriend sit just a couple feet away at the bar. He’s waiting for her to. Waiting for her to break, to give in. A stolen kiss in the present is a compromise in the future, and if she’s the one to crash first, it’s her eventual conceding.

“I’m not the one not over me,” Clarke whispers against his lips, mouth brushing against his as she speaks. “I’ve missed you.”

Bellamy’s breath hitches, uneven spurts of air colliding against her lips. All she wants is for him to take her in his arms right now, her lips on his and their bodies against one another. But they’re both still, in a limbo of uncertainty, of stubbornness that Clarke is growing so tired of. Bellamy is ever so still, his eyes so intently trained on her, daring her to give in.

She can feel his bulge against her lower belly. Slowly grinding against him, Bellamy propped up against the wall gives her the extra edge she needs. His hands come up, snaking around her waist, gentle, but there. His leg tries to insert in between her thighs, just to put that extra distance between them, something telling him that’s less wrong than this. But Clarke lays against his torso, fingers tracing his chest, his bulge thick and strong against her stomach.

“Come on, baby,” Clarke says softly, impatience mixing with desperation and bubbling up in her chest. “It’s you and me. That’s how it’s always going to be.”

He blinks, Clarke’s words sinking into him, and shattering the blockage to his brain. Bellamy inhales, nostrils flaring as he jerks upward, using his hands on her hips to curtly shove her backwards. Clarke stumbles, her hands falling to her sides as she stares at him in disbelief. He glares at her, as if he’s the one that’s been betrayed, as if he’s the one who should be hurt.

“We’re done, Clarke,” Bellamy seethes. “I mean it.”

Bellamy brushes past her, shoulder colliding against her as he strides past. Clarke whips around, staring at the back of him as he marches down the hall. He doesn’t even glance behind him, simply turns the corner, disappearing from her sight most likely joining their friends and his new girlfriend, while he leaves Clarke here, standing alone and craving him.

There was once a time, not too long ago, that Bellamy would fall back into her arms as simply as she would. An apology, a lustful stare, a glimmer in her eyes, and he’d just know what she did. That their meant to be was always going to lead to one another, no matter how messy they got or how long they’d been apart. Even before they started dating officially, it had been the two of them. To think differently just seemed wrong, like a sour taste on the tongue.

For the briefest second, she considers letting him be. Allowing him to seek solace in another woman, grieve their past, respect his relationship. It’s what Clarke assumed that she’d do in this given situation, in the metaphorical stances she would discuss with friends. An ex is an ex for a reason, and if he’s moved on, Clarke should, too. Really, she should.

That brief second passes before Clarke can blink. Part of her waits to feel guilty, a rush of regret for even recognizing this emotion within herself piling up in her chest. But that never comes, not when the reality of what she’s always known sinks back into her bones; _It always ends with Bellamy and me._

* * *

Clarke flips through a magazine, eyes glossing over the pages of models and written blurbs, unable to focus on any of it. She supposes she’s being rude, sitting at a table with her close girlfriends for brunch and only keeping an eye on a magazine, but it was especially cruel for them to invite Echo, so Clarke doesn’t really care. Especially now that everyone is just _so interested_ in what Bellamy’s whore of the month has to say.

“No way,” Emori marvels. “I’ve always wanted to go hiking there. When did you go?”

“Last summer,” Echo responds coolly. “You should totally go. The gym I go to does such a good job of training you for it, if you want the help.”

“What gym do you go to, again?” Raven pipes up.

Out of her peripheral, Clarke eyes Raven. Emori’s an accessory, only ingrained into their friend group because of Murphy and Harper likes everybody, so Clarke expected to lose them to Echo’s charms. But she expected Raven to have more of a backbone, or at least have the loyalty to support her, in the _slightest_.

“ _Azgeda Fitness,_ ” Echo replies with a smile. “It’s where I met Bellamy, actually.”

“Bellamy at the gym,” Clarke scoffs. “That’s a surprise.”

Echo’s features are still, tilting her head slightly as if to analyze Clarke. Her eyes flick up from her magazine, just to meet Echo’s eye, to let her know that she’s aware of what she said out loud. Just to let her know that Clarke knows Bellamy better, and whatever gym kick he’s on right now will quickly return back to his early morning runs.

“Right,” Echo says slowly, as if mulling over Clarke’s words. “I hadn’t seen him much until a couple weeks ago.” A slow smile spreads across Echo’s face, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I’m glad I ran into him, though. Kind of felt like fate.”

Clarke stifles a laugh, unsuccessfully. Raven shoots her a subtle glare, while Emori and Harper’s faces go white, Echo’s eyes narrowing. Clarke occupies herself with her magazine, eyes dully scanning the page while the rest of the tables stares cement on hers. Nobody says anything, much to Clarke’s disdain, because she has so much more to say.

Harper coughs awkwardly, flashing a forced, nervous smile at the table. “You know, I need a bathroom break.” She stands to her feet, glancing over at the table. “Anyone else?”

“I’ll come,” Emori volunteers.

Echo looks directly at Clarke as she says, “Me, too.”

Emori stands, Echo following suit. Clarke’s eyes follow her, not daring to me the one to break the stare first. As expected, Emori shuffles Echo away to the bathroom, Harper – ever so eager to leave the table – leading the way. Clarke slumps back into her chair, a triumphant smile on her face as her gaze returns back to the magazine.

Before she can even read a word, Raven yanks the magazine from her grip. “Are you trying to be a bitch?”

“Yes,” Clarke deadpans, ripping the magazine from Raven’s hands and throwing it on the table. “Why would you guys invite her?”

“Because we should make an effort to get to know Bellamy’s girlfriend,” Raven sighs deeply.

“Why? It’s not like she’s going to be around for long.”

“God, Clarke. Can’t you just be happy for him? Echo’s pretty great–”

“Pretty great?” Clarke gapes, “I don’t care, Raven. Here she is, coming to brunch, shoving her relationship with Bellamy down my throat as if she doesn’t know we were together–”

“She doesn’t,” Raven interjects.

Clarke straightens, “She doesn’t?”

“Bellamy told Murphy that he didn’t say anything about the two of you. And that we shouldn’t either.”

A pitiful laugh escapes Clarke’s lips. It should be because she feels bad for Echo. But honestly, the whole situation is kind of amusing, and all the more childish. Bellamy’s basically hiding her from his supposed girlfriend, for whatever reason, and it’s all just so goddamn unnecessary. She feels bad for nobody but her and Bellamy, suffering because of his own foolishness.

“She thinks you don’t like him,” Raven supplies.

Clarke shakes her head, chuckling to herself. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, Clarke, you’re being ridiculous,” Raven snarls.

“Me? Are you serious?”

“You and Bellamy have been in this toxic relationship for a year. Clearly, you don’t work. You want different things. Grow up and move on.”

“Move on? You’re telling me that?” Clarke keeps her voice low, privy to the two of them and not the rest of this restaurant. “I stood by you while you forgave Finn over and over again, even though he cheated on you _multiple times_.”

Raven’s face twists into a scowl, and Clarke knows she struck a nerve. “Well, Bellamy seemed to learn from my mistakes.”

It’s a low blow, for Raven to accuse Clarke of being the Finn in her and Bellamy’s relationship. Clarke may have started it with bringing up Finn at all, but Raven’s hypocrisies ignited a fuse. And the guilt that seeps into Clarke’s chest means nothing, if not her utter devotion to Bellamy and all she would do to have him. All she would do to prove she would be there.

“I love Bellamy,” Clarke insists, her voice shakier than she intended.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

Clarke doesn’t have time for a rebuttal as Harper, Emori and Echo return to their seats. She quiets, doesn’t even return to her magazine as the girls engage in some lackluster conversation. Clarke’s ears are ringing, thoughts consuming her mind, drowning her body in an endless pit of doubt. She _doubts_ for the _first time_ ever, that her and Bellamy may be done.

The sound of an alarm whistles through the air. Clarke jerks back into reality just as Harper rushes to silence the alarm that’s going off on her phone.

“Sorry guys,” Harper squeaks, shooting to her feet and gathering her items. “I’ve got to go.”

“Is that your ovulation alarm?” Emori wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Harper gives a short glare to Emori, before returning to her hurried pace of collecting her things. “Shut up. I’m trying to start a family.”

“I can’t believe you have an alarm clock telling you when to fuck.” Raven laughs.

Clarke gives a small, reassuring smile to Harper. “I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks,” Harper smiles back, throwing her bag over her shoulder. She turns to Raven, sticking her tongue out. “And at least I orgasm when I have sex. You haven’t felt release since your relationship with Finn started.”

Raven quiets, slumping into her chair. Clarke snickers into her sleeve, while Emori and Echo flat out laugh with no consideration for the red that flashes across Raven’s face. Harper scurries out the door before she can feel Raven’s wrath, as Emori’s cackle litters throughout the restaurant.

“I don’t know you did it, Rae,” Emori breathes, amidst the laughter. “I would’ve left that man the second he couldn’t get an orgasm out of me. John makes me come every single time.”

“Well, make sure to get an STD check if you’re sleeping with Murphy,” Raven scowls.

Emori doesn’t take offense. “Damn, you _really_ need an orgasm.”

“Or two,” Echo interjects with a giddy grin. “I never only come once with Bellamy.”

Emori’s laughter steals the attention from Clarke, even Raven cracks a smile at Echo’s comment. They launch into a tale of best sex experiences, and Clarke knows if she were to interject, she would wipe that grin right off of that skank’s face. But she stays quiet, ruminating in the chaos of her brain, thanking the Lord that Echo opened her big, fucking mouth and reminded her who Bellamy belonged to.

Anger fuses inside Clarke’s chest, but Echo doesn’t even notice the glare that she sends her way. She’s not even sure if she considers it a glare, or the stare of impending death. But it’s not like Echo knows about Clarke and Bellamy’s past. And that’s his fault. But here she is, acting like she has a Sex God that nobody has access to, when he was Clarke’s to begin with.

Something wicked clicks in Clarke’s mind. It’s a fleeting thought, an idea that should be immediately discarded and thrown in the trash. But instead, it soaks into Clarke’s brain, cements itself there and calculates a plan.

Clarke straightens, staring at Echo as she drowns on about sex with Bellamy that’ll never live up to what the two of them had done. She smiles, even nods along, pretends that she’s invested in the conversation without saying a word.

* * *

The CD is burning a hole in Clarke’s shelf. Usually, it’s tucked away, hidden in a cupboard or dresser or shoved under the mattress. Out of sight, never out in the plainness of her living room, encased in nothing but it’s transparent plastic case. People barely have CDs nowadays, but she has a couple of music albums stored in her bookcase, with some movies – not like the one encased in the transparent case, though – nothing like that.

Nobody even sees it, not unless they’re looking for it. Her friends are all crowded in her living room, Bellamy and Echo included. They’re curled up on the couch, on Clarke’s couch, asses imprinting on the cushions that Bellamy’s fucked her senseless on literally a couple of weeks ago. It sounds like the CD is screaming at her now.

But, she chickens out. Clarke stands to her feet, excusing herself to the kitchen. She rummages through the cupboards for a clean glass, pouring tap water and gulping it down. She’s in way over her head. It’s hard enough having Bellamy in her apartment, cuddling his girlfriend, nuzzling at her neck, kissing her cheek –

“Hey,” Bellamy’s voice litters throughout the kitchen. Clarke’s head tips up, just to catch him leaning against the doorway with a smirk. “Thirsty?”

Clarke gulps down another sip, setting the glass down on her counter. “You brought her here.”

“You invited her,” Bellamy steps forward. “Which is odd, considering I heard brunch didn’t go well.”

She grips the marble countertop for support. He stares at her, triumph sprawled out over his features, like this is something to win. Like any of them should feel victorious, like any of them would be achieving anything when they’re not together. Bellamy seems to be thinking that’s the case – that this is what they’ve come to, winning and losing in terms of their status, in terms of who has the upper hand.

Well, Clarke can play games, too.

“You’ve started something you don’t know how to finish, Bellamy,” Clarke taunts. “Where do you see this ending? You think she’s going to give you what I can’t?”

Bellamy narrows his eyes. “What you _won’t_.”

“Ah,” realization dawns on Clarke. She steps forward, rounding the countertop, sliding her hand along the marble as she draws closer. “So, that’s what this is. She can give you a nice, big wedding and a fuck-ton of kids before the age of thirty?”

“Someone’s got to,” Bellamy keeps his voice level, but his eyes darken.

“I can give you that. Just not–”

“Anytime soon. I’m over it. I don’t need you for it–”

“Obviously you don’t _need_ me,” Clarke teases, the smirk dropping from his lips and appearing on hers. Her hand comes up, fingers ghosting on his cheek. “But you want me. It’s me that you love, it’s me you wish was in your bed every night.”

Bellamy catches her wrist, and Clarke grins wickedly. “I have someone in my bed every night.”

“Oh, right.” Clarke feigns innocence, eyes big and doe-like. “So, you’re saying you don’t miss me, baby? You don’t miss the way my tongue twirls around the tip of you before I take you in my mouth?””

His grip on her wrist tightens, lips curling into a snarl. Clarke lurches forward to touch him, but he twirls her around, pins her pelvis against the countertop. His torso presses against her back, the bulge of him digging into her ass. A yelp leaves Clarke’s lips, not out of surprise, but pure excitement. His lips aren’t on her, but they may as well be, just inches away from her neck, his hot breath imprinting her skin.

“Or the way I arch my back,” Clarke mirrors her words, leaning against him, “when you pound me from behind?”

“I’m not playing these games, Clarke.” Bellamy growls in her ear.

“You started this _game_.” Clarke says hotly, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her teeth graze against his jaw, “Finish it now, baby.”

The challenge coming from Clarke’s lips hardens his cock. She can feel the curve of him indenting into her ass, and all she can think about is how she wants him to bend her over, take her right here on the counter with all their friends and his girlfriend in the other room. It’s a heat that goes straight to her cunt, after growing in the pit of her belly.

Bellamy dips his head down, teeth grazing her shoulder. She gets up on the tips of her toes, feeling his dick slick against the center of her ass, his teeth sinking into her skin. He travels up her neck, nibbling into her ear.

“I want all of you,” Bellamy breathes into her ear.

Clarke giggles, moving her head down so that their lips are just inches apart, a breath away, once more. “You have all of me.”

Bellamy meets her eye, and instead of the lust and adoration she expects, it’s the hurt, the pain, the frustration, all wrapped up into his pupils. She nearly staggers back in surprise, but her gaze remains locked on him, as he stares back at her.

“No, I don’t,” Bellamy breathes.

He lets go of her wrist, steps away from her. Clarke slumps to the balls of her feet, swiveling around to stare at him as he scrubs his hand over his face. Bellamy sighs deeply, glancing out of the entry way, checking to see if anybody’s coming. Clarke doesn’t care to take a look, she’s fixated on him, like she always is. And somehow, that always isn’t enough.

“Bellamy–” Clarke starts, to no avail.

“Don’t,” Bellamy sneers. “You don’t want what I want, _fine_. I found someone that does.”

Clarke opens her mouth, ready to yell, prepared to fight for him with everything that they are, but he doesn’t give her the chance. Bellamy barely spares her a glance before he strides out of the room, footsteps echoing down the hall as he re-joins their friends and his girlfriend in Clarke’s living room.

And after all this waiting, after all this bullshit, Clarke’s fuming. She can hear laughter ringing through her apartment, the murmurs of chats following suit, and it only fuels all the fires igniting in her chest. She takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to ground herself, before she storms back into her own goddamn living room.

“Clarke,” Harper greets her warmly. “We were thinking about watching a movie–”

“I second that,” Clarke could have said it with more enthusiasm, but she doesn’t. She strides right over to the shelf. “I’ve got a good one.”

“What’s your Netflix password?” Murphy asks, punching his thumb against the buttons on the remote.

“The movie I want to watch isn’t on Netflix.”

“Not on Netflix?” Monty whines. “Is it another documentary?”

“I guess you can say that.”

Clarke slips the CD out of her shelf. She turns back to her friends, all huddled on the floor or the couch, completely oblivious. But it’s Bellamy eye that she makes sure to catch. His eyebrows furrow, glancing down at the CD in her hand. He squints, as if trying to puzzle it all together, and when he finally does, he looks back up at Clarke with wide eyes. She stares at him for a moment, just stares, while his arm is around Echo, her head laying on his chest. And he just stares back, the only sound being the voices of their friends filling the room.

“Who the fuck owns CDs nowadays?” Murphy scoffs.

“Movies that aren’t on Netflix are on CDs,” Raven supplies with a shrug. “Plus, a documentary could teach you guys a thing or two.”

That’s exactly what Clarke wants.

She expects Bellamy to say something, stop her from doing this in front of their friends, in front of his _girlfriend_. After their scene in the kitchen, after his temper tantrum, that’s what he should want to happen. Yet, Clarke stands, the edge CD digging into her palm, and he doesn’t say a word. His eyes are trained on her, daring her, a flicker of a fire sparking in the dark brown.

Bellamy doesn’t say a word, his eyes not even glued to the CD, but to Clarke. Not as his arm is draped around Echo, her head laying on his chest. Not even when his doting girlfriend leans up, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth before resting her cheek back against his torso. Fixated on Clarke, on everything she holds in her hands that could destroy everything as he knows it. And he doesn’t say a word.

Clarke strides over to the television, kneeling down in front the console.

“Who watches CDs?” Emori quips.

She clicks the button to her right, the disc holder sliding out slowly.

“Old people,” Raven suggests.

Unraveling the case, the CD twinkles before Clarke, daring her just as feverishly as the eyes burning the back of her neck.

“CDs can be fun,” Harper pipes up.

Clarke delicately places the CD in the holder, and presses it inside.

“Depends what’s on them,” Echo chips in.

Standing to her feet, Clarke turns back to the couch. Bellamy’s stature is just unmoving as before, but she catches the wicked glint in his eye. She tips her chin to him, restraining the smirk that threatens to dance across her face.

There may be a world where she can be with Bellamy without it leading to this, to the destruction that they pull from one another. That, somehow, somewhere, in another Universe, there’s the two of them residing in perfect harmony. Maybe in that world, she gives him the nice, big wedding and the fuck-ton of kids in her twenties. Possibly in that universe, Echo doesn’t exist. Most likely, in that realm of the atmosphere, Clarke’s moan isn’t being echoed across her living room from the screen.

“Bellamy,” Clarke’s voice cries out from the screen. She whips around to catch it for herself, her arched back and naked body appearing in full view on the screen. “I want it now.”

“Poor baby,” Bellamy’s low voice coos from off-screen. His hands are the first of him that comes into frame, big and calloused and palming her ass. “I’m going to give it to you, you just have to be patient.”

Clarke’s never been a fan of patience, but her mouth waters watching how eagerly she waited for him ass up on that bed that’s just a couple feet away from them right now.

On screen, Bellamy’s hand comes down, sliding his thumb against her entrance. The Clarke that’s on screen moans out, sensitive and dripping for him, while the Clarke standing before the screen feels herself dampen as well. And when Bellamy finally comes into frame, his mouth leveling with her cunt, Clarke holds in a moan while the one on screen cries out, just as his tongue swipes up the middle of her.

“Oh, baby,” Bellamy had growled into her cunt, his teeth grazing against her while he steadied her with his palms on her ass. She can almost feel it. “I love tasting you.”

Harper screams. It resonates throughout the living room, and rattles Clarke’s eardrums, but it’s not what causes her to tear her gaze from the screen. She’s kind of enraptured in it, in watching Bellamy eat her out from this angle. It’s been a couple months since she watched the tape, close to a year since they made it, but she has every frame memorized. Even so, this isn’t her favorite part, it just so happens to be one that makes her really marvel at how lucky she was to have Bellamy’s mouth on her.

Nonetheless, Clarke forces herself to look away from the screen, Harper’s scream just a reminder that she and Bellamy aren’t the only ones here. After all, the two of them have watched this a million times. She doesn’t need the reminder, and surely neither does he. Their friends erupt in chaos before them, but Clarke turns her stare directed at Echo.

Bellamy’s girlfriend isn’t as sharp as Clarke expected her to be. Echo glances around the room at the scene before her; Harper burying her face into Monty’s shoulder, Monty hiding in her hair, Raven’s mouth agape, Murphy laughing his ass off and Emori squinting at the screen. It almost happens in slow motion, Echo’s gaze shifting to Bellamy as him and Clarke’s moans fill the air. And she catches him, not looking at the sex tape displaying across the screen, but staring straight at Clarke.

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s groaning on the screen now. Clarke doesn’t have to look to know what’s going on. They’re flipped around, Bellamy laying on the bed as she bobs up and down on his cock. “Yeah, baby, just like that. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

She does, and the smirk that’s unable to be restrained shows just that. Echo glances rapidly, from Bellamy to Clarke, as if they’re in the midst of some nightmare. The fact that neither of them are moving don’t help anybody’s case, but the world has frozen. Their friends are stunted in their positions, and the only course of movement is Echo’s head that’s about to snap off from how fast she’s whipping it back and forth. And Bellamy and Clarke, just still.

Echo snaps out of it right around the time that on-screen Bellamy flips them around. Clarke can hear the creaks of her mattress as he does it, has a vivid flashback to what’s playing behind them; Clarke’s ass back up in the air as Bellamy angles his cock, slick with her saliva, along her cunt. Echo shoots to her feet, and Clarke really expects her to storm right over, and smack her across the face. But she just looks at her, stunned and appalled.

“Whoops,” Clarke says, locking eyes with Echo. “Wrong movie.”

The world resumes as Echo blinks. There’s no hand winding behind her back, or fume exhausting from her nose and ears, not even a twist of anger littering her features. She’s almost completely poised, if not for the surprise that’s etched into her features. Clarke doesn’t tear her gaze away from her, just look on, waiting for an explosion that’s bound to happen. But it never comes.

“Definitely the wrong movie,” Echo replies calmly, a snide to her voice oozing out.

Bellamy stands from the couch, idly shifting by Echo’s side as the movie continues to play before them. There’s a stillness that Clarke can’t quite figure out, the chaos that erupts between her friends halted in her, Bellamy and Echo. Bellamy’s still looking at Clarke, a mixture of disbelief and awe causing a confusing expression sprawling across his features. Clarke can’t figure it out, almost as much as she can’t figure out how Echo is so coherent with the sounds of her boyfriend fucking another woman blaring around her.

Harper’s hurrying to her feet, Monty ushering them to the door and Emori’s trying to pull Murphy off the couch, but he’s still in the midst of his fit of laughter. Raven buries her head in her hands, an inward groan escaping.

And Clarke just stands, and watches the world burn before her. It’s the lowest she’s ever stooped to in her life, and probably the lowest she should ever feel, but all that pumps through her veins in the reclamation of victory. Of reminding everyone what she’s known for all this time; it’s always Bellamy and Clarke, whether on-screen or in the reality of the real world. Whether someone holds the title of a girlfriend or not.

The tape is still playing, and Echo is just standing there, glancing expectantly at Bellamy, who does quite literally, nothing.

Echo’s subtle features morph into a glare, “You told me you guys weren’t even _friends_.”

Bellamy glances from Clarke to Echo, swallowing thickly, “We never really were.”

Clarke glances over her shoulder, just as Bellamy slides his cock into her from behind. She remembers the stretch of him, can see it sprawled across her face on-screen as her mouth opens into a perfect ‘O’ shape. He had started slow, allowing her to get used to him, but he hadn’t given her much time to warm up. Soon enough, the speakers are echoing with the repetitive slap of skin on skin, followed by Clarke’s outlandish moans.

“Clarke,” Raven hisses, standing to her feet, “Turn this shit _off_.”

Clarke stares blankly at Raven, “I don’t have the remote.”

“I do,” Murphy waves the remote in the air with a cackle as Emori tries her best to drag him off the couch.

Tilting her head to the side with a Chesire smile, Clarke waits for Bellamy to say anything. But the bead of sweat forming on the side of his temple is anything but nerves. She’s got him worked up, even more so as he switches his gaze from Echo to Clarke to the screen. It doesn’t help when his eyes linger on the television, watching his own cock pound in and out of Clarke relentlessly.

Harper and Monty scurry out the door, just as Raven charges over to Murphy and Emori. She swipes the remote from Murphy and turns the television off, interrupting on-screen Clarke mid-groan and on-screen Bellamy mid-thrust.

“Get out,” Raven scowls at Murphy and Emori. That seems to get Murphy off the couch, Emori finally being able to drag him out the door. She seems to be fuming more than Echo, swiveling around to the three of them, standing by the television. “You guys are disgusting.”

“Is it over?” Echo’s voice threatens to incline, but she catches herself as she turns to Bellamy. “Is – whatever this is, with Clarke, over?”

Clarke feels her heart thump in her chest as she looks towards Bellamy. He almost looks like he’s going to confess, his mouth opening and shoulders relaxing, as if truth has overwhelmed him. He looks at Echo, as she asks him if she is what he wants, not Clarke and he nearly confesses what they all already know. The truth that lies deep within them, but poofs into ashes whenever one of them threaten to speak it out loud.

It’s almost forbidden to speak. Clarke’s eyes pry, but as Bellamy switches his gaze to her, she can tell it’s her that he wants to talk. He wants her to cave, to _compromise_. Clarke shakes her head, betrayal etching into her chest. That after all of this, here he is, loving her, wanting her, needing her and asking her to do all the heavy lifting. As if this whole ordeal wasn’t enough.

Echo simply clears her throat, “Well. I think we should go.”

Clarke’s eyebrows furrow together, glancing between Bellamy and Echo. The girl just watched her boyfriend ruthlessly fuck the woman standing before her, and yet, she’s unphased. Unless she’s waiting for them to be alone before she erupts on Bellamy, but it doesn’t appear that way. She just gives a sideways glance to Clarke, a brief acknowledgment before she hooks her arm around Bellamy’s.

Two weeks ago, Clarke considered herself sane, _logical_. There she had been, patiently waiting for Bellamy to stroll back in, to take her back as he always had. And here she was without him, showing her friends and his girlfriend their sex tape. It was neurotic and made her feel like a complete loose cannon, and part of her can’t believe losing Bellamy made her lose her mind. But then she stares at Echo, completely unfolding before her, and she gets it. She did the same. She just did it better.

Bellamy, however, seems to come to the logical side of his senses. He allows Echo to usher him to the door. Clarke’s desperation seeds in her chest as Bellamy helps Echo with her coat, before trying to put on his own jacket.

“Where are you going?” Clarke demands to know.

“Party’s over,” Bellamy mumbles.

“Bellamy–” Clarke steps forward, only for Raven to grab her arm.

Bellamy slips on his shoes, averting his gaze from Clarke as Echo peers over his shoulder, her lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t worry, Clarke, accidents happen.” Echo’s taunting voice makes Clarke’s blood boil. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

_Accidents_. She thinks whatever happened with the two of them, whatever was on that tape was fleeting moment, a thing of the past. And maybe it would be, but whatever Echo’s conjured up in her mind about what Bellamy and Clarke are, she’s more than far off. Her brain doesn’t have the capacity to handle what Bellamy and Clarke mean to one another.

Clarke stares right at Bellamy. “Bellamy, you don’t have to go–”

Bellamy looks up, a sheepish expression written over his face. And now, she feels bad. The guilt sets in, resonating throughout her chest and sinking into her bones. It’s almost as if she’s stepped out of her own body, watching everything unfold from a bird’s eye view. She doesn’t recognize herself, someone who was once considered mature, levelled. All she sees now is Bellamy’s worn out expression, his tired eyes wide with a twinge of sadness that she caused.

The guilt fuses with an overwhelming sense of stupidity. She couldn’t give him what he wanted, and he found someone that could. And here she is, brokenhearted and begging for him to accept the minimum that she’s offering. It’s not enough for him, and it’s not fair of her to expect that it ever would be.

She lets Echo lead Bellamy outside wordlessly, watches as the door swings to a slow shut. Clarke stares at the door, for what feels like an eternity, the wood pattern ingraining into her sight until she zones out completely. He left her apartment, gone with his girlfriend.

“What were you thinking?” Raven scowls, forcing Clarke around to look at her. “You get a kick out of breaking up happy couples?”

Clarke sighs deeply, shaking her head, “I don’t need the lecture, Raven.”

“Of course you don’t, Miss. Perfect.” Raven sneers, her grip tightening on Clarke’s arm. “You can do no wrong, can’t you? Nothing is ever your fault.”

“It’s not like I tried to steal your fucking boyfriend, Raven. Bellamy is barley even _Echo’s_ boyfriend, they haven’t even known each other–”

“You could come up with a million and one reasons, but none of them will ever justify this. Echo’s right, you’re pathetic.”

Clarke straightens, teeth grazing over her tongue. She huffs out a laugh, bitter and humorless. “I get it. I fucked up. But I don’t need to be called pathetic from you.”

“Someone’s got to do it.”

“My friend needs to do that?”

“We’ve barely been friends, Clarke.”

At least someone said it. Maybe Clarke is pathetic for not being able to say it sooner. These people were all Bellamy’s friends, had only tolerated Clarke because he did. She likes Harper and Monty, can tolerate Murphy, enjoys Emori’s commentary and has had her moments with Raven. But their loyalty has never lied with her, they’ve never been there for her. Every breakup, they’ve flocked to Bellamy, content to keep her out of plans unless Harper and Monty invite her. Raven’s pretended she’s not lumped in with them, but she is.

Clarke doesn’t understand herself sometimes, she’ll give Raven that. But they don’t have to understand her to be her friend, Clarke certainly didn’t when Raven sat idly while being cheated on. Every verbal tongue lashing, every name in the book that she got called when Finn hit on her and Raven insisted she was trying to break them up. She assumed they’d got over it, only Raven has an overwhelming tendency to blame others for her happenstances.

“You’re so right,” Clarke realizes. “Get out.”

Raven doesn’t say anything, but she isn’t surprised either. She gathers her items and in seconds, she’s out the door, slamming it behind her.

Clarke stands in her empty apartment, and for the first time, tries to take solace in the quiet. She finds she doesn’t miss the murmur of her friends, or the echoing sounds of her moaning, nor the memories of endless sex that come with it. All she misses is Bellamy, and the aching feeling in her chest that’s usually resolved once she’s done waiting for him to come back. Except this time, she doesn’t think that’s going to be the case.

* * *

If two weeks could erase a relationship, it seems to eradicate friendships.

Clarke hasn’t heard from any of her friends for the last couple of weeks. Bellamy hasn’t reached out either, not that she expected him to, but she does stare at his number on her phone. Her thumb hovers over the ‘Call’ button, but it never touches the screen. Not until she swipes against the screen, heading over to social media’s only to see on her supposed friends stories, that they’re all hanging out without her.

The first time, Clarke’s surprised at how much she doesn’t care. She scans the story, Murphy seemingly recording the span of the room. She locates Echo taking a shot with Raven off in the corner of Emori’s house. They’re all laughing, giggling, bursting at the seams with joy and Clarke truly doesn’t care. Not until she finds Bellamy, curled off to the side with Monty, a beer in his hand and in deep conversation.

On autopilot, Clarke closes the app and goes back into her contact. She presses on Bellamy’s name, holds the phone against her ear and tries to level her chest as it heaves up and down. She’s done with this. She just wants to hear his voice, to hear that she’s not this horrible person she made herself out to be. She wants to know that if she could give him the only thing he’s asked of her, if he’d come back.

It picks up on the second ring. “Bellamy? Bellamy, it’s Clarke–”

“Clarke?” the voice does not belong to Bellamy.

She stills, irritation seeping into her veins. “Echo. Where’s Bellamy?”

“Oh, he’s somewhere around here.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“I’ll take a message.”

Clarke inhales deeply, trying not to burst at the seams. She already has before, and Echo seems to think that now she has the upper hand. And she very well just might. She has Bellamy, she has her friends, she’s taken up Clarke’s place. But none of this feels over, not with Bellamy just out of her reach.

“Echo,” Clarke starts again. “You need to give the phone to–”

“To who? To your ex? To _my_ boyfriend?” There’s no sneer to her voice, only a mocking that Clarke can’t stand. “Whatever was between you guys, it’s over now. Bellamy’s moved on. It’s sad that you haven’t done the same.”

There’s shifting from the other side of the line. And then she hears the deepness of his voice, crackling through the background. “What are you doing with my phone?”

“You had a call,” Echo replies calmly.

“Who was it?”

She must be hiding the phone behind her back or something. Clarke’s fingers wrap around her phone, clutching it so tightly it could crumble to pieces in her palm. She closes her eyes, softly repeating to herself: _Please, Bellamy, please, Bellamy, please._

“Telemarketer,” Echo says.

“Oh. Well, next time tell me when I get a call.”

The line goes dead, and Clarke feels the air leave her lungs. She stays, planted in her bed, frozen in place. The thing is; she hears the disdain in his voice. The displeasure, the uncertainty with Echo having his phone. She sees the distance he puts in between them, maybe not physically, but emotionally, his eyes always on Clarke and never on his girlfriend. And all Clarke has done is cause a rift between them, refusing to admit to her own faults in hopes he’ll accept her for her selfishness anyways.

She’s not sure how long time passes, but she sends him a message soon later: _Please, call me._

The message she receives next is: _You are no longer able to send messages to this number_.

* * *

Clarke doesn’t expect a knock at her door. It’s been a couple of days since Echo undoubtedly blocked Bellamy, and a couple more social media posts have littered across the Internet since then. But with no friends and no Bellamy, she doesn’t know who could be at the door. But she sprints down the hallway, nonetheless, just for the chance that it could be him.

Harper stands on the opposite end of the door. Clarke’s shoulders droop without intent.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you so disappointed,” Harper jokes.

“Sorry,” Clarke’s voice is more timid than she intends. “I thought you were…”

“I know,” Harper gives her a small, sympathetic smile. “Can I come in?”

Clarke nods curtly, stepping aside to open the door wider for her. Harper steps inside, albeit a little reserved. Not that Clarke blames her. A couple of weeks ago, Harper had been witness to her and Bellamy’s naked bodies on full display across her television. It’s sure to scar her, but she tries her best to hide it as she slips off her shoes and heads to the couch.

Harper plants herself into the cushion, hands folded neatly in her lap. Clarke takes a seat beside her, noting how Harper averts her gaze, as if collecting her thoughts. When she finally lifts her head to look at Clarke, she gives her sheepish stare.

“I want to invite you,” Harper says quietly. “Every time. But–”

“I get it,” Clarke sighs deeply, head leaning against the head of the couch. “I fucked up.”

“You did. But we’re still your friends–”

“You’re Bellamy’s friends.”

“And you are an extension of Bellamy.”

“So is Echo.”

Harper leans her elbow against the head of the couch, balancing her head in her palm. “I say you’re an extension of Bellamy because that’s how we met. But we kept you around because we like you.”

“I like you,” Clarke presses her cheek against the cushion to stare at Harper. “And Monty. And Emori, sometimes Murphy. But Raven–”

“Is an acquired taste,” Harper supplies. “We know. But we miss you.”

“You miss me.”

“Bellamy misses you.”

Tears well up in Clarke’s eyes, and she stares down at her lap. “He has Echo.”

“You know just as well as I do that Echo is a replacement.”

“Really? Because you all seem to be having such fun with her.”

“She’s a bit of a narcissist, but she’s hot, so the guys let it go. And Raven likes people as self-righteous as she is. But she’s not the one Bellamy’s in love with.”

“He just left me here. After I embarrassed myself with that tape. He let us all watch it, and he still left with her.”

“Because you guys still couldn’t communicate. He thinks you don’t ever want the life that he wants in the future.”

“That is not what I said,” Clarke defends, head shooting up to glare. “And he knows that. All I ever see is Bellamy and me. It’s only ever going to be Bellamy for me.”

And it’s all she’s ever told him; her present is Bellamy, just like her future will be. She doesn’t know why he needs the physical form of commitment, beyond her promises and affirmations to assure him that she’ll always be there. If he can’t take her word for it, if he can’t trust her, then what is a physical form of anything going to do?

Harper pauses, peering at Clarke. “Monty and I are hosting a little get together at the bar tonight. You should come.”

Clarke shakes her head, staring back down at her lap. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Come on, Clarke. If you don’t come, you’re going to miss my pregnancy announcement.”

The grin on Harper’s face when Clarke’s head snaps up in surprise is the most life she has felt in weeks. She squeals, a burst of delight flooding through her body as she throws her arms around the soon-to-be mother. Harper laughs, wrapping her hands around Clarke with the same vigor.

“Oh my God,” Clarke breathes. She doesn’t recognize the pang in her chest, but she knows she has to be happy for her friend. And she is. “Congratulations. You and Monty have been wanting this for so long.”

“Thank you,” Harper rests her head against Clarke’s shoulder. “I know we’re young, and we only got married a few months ago…But when you know, you just know, right?”

Clarke squeezes Harper a little tighter, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder. Harper’s words sink into her bones, rattling her insides and making her lose her breath. She sucks in a deep breath.

* * *

Announcing a pregnancy at a bar is an odd choice, but Harper divulges in a round of cheese fries paid by the table and all is well. With her, that is.

The minute Clarke waltzes into the bar, everyone goes quiet. They’re mid-laughter, and it cuts short almost instantly. Harper and Monty greet her warmly, and Murphy and Emori tip their heads in acknowledgement, but Raven grimaces, whispering something into Echo’s ear like a school girl. Clarke only turns to stare at Bellamy, and she can’t help but notice the way the corners of his lip tip up into a smile.

She’s mostly quiet, soaking in the excitement of the upcoming baby. Everyone’s chatting amongst themselves, tucked into a booth. Echo is tucked into Bellamy’s side, but every once in a while she’ll eye Clarke just to make sure she’s keeping her distance. Clarke always flashes her a warm, cheery smile, meanwhile her foot is gliding up the side of Bellamy’s leg.

His eyes flicker to her, a mixture of amusement and uncertainty riddled into his pupils. Clarke tilts her head to the side, teasing and wanting. All she needs is to get him alone, away from their friends and what’s left of them.

Clarke stands, brushing herself off. “Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.”

She waltzes off to that corner, secluding the bathroom from the rest of the bar. Clarke doesn’t even walk into the bathroom, doesn’t pretend to freshen up or hide away in a stall. She just waits, hopefully for the last time that night. She leans against the door, eyes gazing out the hall, waiting for Bellamy to round the corner. And when he does, striding towards her with determined, narrowed eyes, she straightens and braces for him.

“I don’t want to keep doing this,” she starts. “You have me, Bellamy. We can talk about the rest later.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he all but snarls, arms snaking around her waist and crashing his lips to hers.

Before Clarke can even deepen her mouth against his, they’re shuffling into the woman’s bathroom. They don’t tear apart, don’t even look for any other occupiers. Bellamy kicks the door shut behind them, reaching back and locking the door without separating his lips from hers. Once the click of the lock sounds through the air, Bellamy’s hands come up to cup her face, frenzied, passionate kisses colliding with the sloppy and hurriedness of their actions.

Bellamy hoists her against the side of a stall, Clarke’s legs coming up and hooking around his waist. His teeth graze her lower lip as Clarke’s hands snake into his curls. She slams her lips back onto his, his chapped mouth no longer a memory to her. She relishes in the taste of him, bits of alcohol, remnants of coffee, hot breath soaking into her own lips as she grinds down on his crotch.

“What took you so long?” Clarke murmurs.

He doesn’t say anything, and Clarke’s so sick of it that she nearly tears her mouth away to call him out on it. But Bellamy does it first, dragging his lips down to her neck while his hand crawls up her dress. Clarke breathes out shakily as his fingers hook around her panties, dragging them to the tiled floor before the glide against her bare cunt.

Bellamy bites down on her neck as his fingers sink into her. His thumb goes up to circle her clit, his fingers gliding in and out of her while his mouth attaches to her neck. She sighs heavenly, his touch always nothing but paradise to her. She holds onto his curls, tries to enjoy the pleasure of his touch.

This is how they would have fixed themselves all those weeks ago, hot sex and nothing more. And usually, she wouldn’t have any qualms about that, not when he makes her feel this good. Not when it’s been so long, not when he’s been touching someone else who is just a couple of feet away. Clarke’s stomach churns, and not because she’s guilty. That’s subsided into the heat of her pleasure. She just wants more, and she can give him the more than he craves.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whimpers, groaning out as his fingers hook at just the right spot inside her. She struggles to maintain her voice, especially when he rests his forehead against her, lips brushing hers, painfully brief. “Bellamy, baby, please. I can give you what you want.”

“Quiet, Clarke.” Bellamy snarls. His fingers quicken their pace, thrusting in and out of her relentlessly. Clarke fists her hands into his shirt to support herself, stars clouding her vision. “We can have this.”

Clarke finds her strength, gulping down some moisture into her dry throat. “We can have everything, baby.”

Bellamy’s thumb presses against her clit, forming rapid circles in conjunction with his fingers. Clarke’s climbing to the edge, taking spurts of breath just to center herself. But she barely ever can when she’s with Bellamy. Everything with them strolls through the air, gliding in the mass of uncertainty, but secure in one another’s hold.

She brings her hand to the back of his head, crashing her lips on his once more. Clarke moans into his mouth as she comes onto his hand, his pace unbending, and his mouth all the more forgiving. His lips glide against her, reassurances he can’t say aloud, spoken in the softness of his kisses. Clarke takes what she can get, for now, riding out her orgasm on his fingers.

He slicks his fingers out of her, bringing them to his mouth. Clarke watches through half-lidded eyes, tears of pleasure blurring her vision; but she makes out the way his tongue swirls around his fingers, tasting the remnants of her. She bites down on her lip, restraining another moan that threatens to draw out just from watching him. Sweat staining her skin, breath heavy, chest heaving and heart pounding, Clarke gulps as Bellamy brushes his lips along hers.

“Baby,” Clarke whispers. “I want more than this.”

Bellamy shifts, most likely to get to his knees, but Clarke catches him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Please,” Clarke pleads, her voice so soft, so desperate. “It’s you and me, Bellamy.”

His eyes flash something dark, and he jerks out of her grip. Clarke reaches out to grasp at him again, but he’s already on his knees, hiking her dress up to her waist and handling her hips with his palms. The callouses on Bellamy’s hands dig into her skin, creating scratches as he pins her against the stall and nuzzles his nose in between her legs.

“Since when can you give me everything?” Bellamy growls, tongue padding against her clit. “Since when do you want more, baby?”

“I can’t handle not being with you,” Clarke gasps. “We’re not supposed to be without each other.”

“When did you realize that? Before, or after I introduced you to my girlfriend?”

“I’ve always _known_. I’ve always told you that.”

“What you says goes, right?”

Bellamy’s mocking her; she doesn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from his lips. His eyes flicker up to hers, dark and daring as his tongue presses against her clit. Clarke looks down, carefully combing her fingers through his hair, admiring the way he touches her, the way he looks at her; how lucky she is to have him even like this after all the shit she’s pulled.

Her gestures are soft, his movements slow, a mere moment of nothing but the two of them. Just like how it’s supposed to be, them captured in one another. If Clarke could have one more chance, a final plea to make it all right, she would. All she needs is Bellamy, is for him to admit what they already both now.

His tongue quickens against her clit, and Clarke’s head falls back against the stall. She grips her fingers into his hair, her second orgasm quickly approaching. “Bell, baby, just like that.”

“You think you deserve to come again?” Bellamy breathes against her clit before resuming his pace. “After all you’ve done to me?”

“You’re not completely innocent,” she dares to bite back. “You knew what I was doing when I took out that CD.” Bellamy suckles her clit. “Ah – fuck. You wanted your girlfriend to watch your cock slide in and out of me, didn’t you?”

Bellamy snarls, but his pace doesn’t lessen. He encloses his mouth around her clit, flicking wildly as she crashes against his lips. She moans out, leaning forward and seizing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, only keeping herself up by her hold on his hair. She closes her eyes, breathing out slowly, trying to get the stars to fade from her vision as Bellamy laps her cunt leisurely, licking all of her up.

The conversation is far from over, but so is this. Clarke hoists him up by his hair, launching forward and tasting herself on his lips. Her tongue drags along his lower lip, cleaning him up before she seeps it into her mouth. Bellamy groans inwardly, nipping at her lower lip before deepening his mouth against hers.

“I wanted her to see it,” Bellamy tells her truthfully. “Wanted her to see how much I give to you.”

“You give her all that?” Clarke breathes against his lips.

“No, baby. It’s all for you.”

“You should’ve ended it there and then.”

“I should have. But then you’d win.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“You make it one. Every time you expect me to crawl back to you.”

“Well, isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

Bellamy turns her around in a flash, pressing her cheek against the stall. Clarke yelps, barely given any time to recover from the past two orgasms before she hears his zipper drag down. She sticks out her ass, already dripping for him. He nudges the head of his cock against her clit. Clarke tries to jerk herself back onto his cock, but he pins down her hip with his palm.

“I want to marry you. I want to fuck a baby into you,” Bellamy growls into her ear. “And you don’t ever want that.”

“I do,” Clarke cries out, heart pouring with everything she’s suppressed for their year-long relationship. “It’s just so soon, baby.”

“I never needed it now,” Bellamy’s head drops to her shoulder. The tip of him slides into her. “But you always talk like you never want it. Like marriage and a family with me isn’t something you see.”

“I see it all with you,” Clarke whimpers. “I see it _all_.”

Bellamy slides into her slowly, drawing out a low, shaky breath. “You always say it’s going to be you and me. For how long? How long until me and you becomes you and somebody else?”

“There’s nobody else,” Clarke brings her hand down to his on her hip and intertwines her fingers. “Marriage or a baby doesn’t secure us, Bellamy. You and I do that on our own.”

He can’t take it anymore, and really, neither can she. Bellamy doesn’t give her time to even adjust to him, not that she needs it. She’s missed the burn of the stretch, the ache in her cunt when he draws out. He uses one hand on her hip to steady her, the other one bunched into her hair so he can slam in and out of her leisurely, her cheek rubbing against the cool of the stall as he does so. 

Clarke clutches onto his hand, for everything that’s sworn into the promises of them. She’s sure arguments will come back up, disagreements where one of them wants to flee instead of communicating and solving their problems like the adults they are. But they’ll always find their way back, because that’s just how it’s supposed to be. Etched into the affirmations of their words or in the unity of their bodies, it’s always going to be the two of them.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Bellamy bites down on her shoulder. “ _Fuck_.”

“Oh, baby,” Clarke gasps as he bottoms out inside of her. “I love you, fuck, I love you.”

“I love you, baby,” Bellamy nibbles at her ear, drawing out and then slamming back into her. His hand comes down from her hip to circle feverishly at her clit. “You and me, baby. You and me.”

She can feel herself approaching her third orgasm, and she’s certain Bellamy can, too. His fingers somehow manage to circle quicker, and he begins mouthing at her neck, just like the way she craves. Clarke slams her hips down on his, just to give both of them the extra edge that they need.

Clarke yelps out as she pulsates around his cock. Bellamy waits for her orgasm to ride out, intent on pleasuring her before he can give himself release. Clarke’s head collapses against his shoulder, and his hand comes up from her clit to wrap around the base of her neck. His cock takes a couple more strides in and out of her, flesh against flesh nothing but utter bliss to Clarke as her orgasm rides out.

Bellamy hunches forward as he anchors himself inside her. The warmth of him spreads inside Clarke, reminding her of the tie they’ll always have, and everything that they are. Bellamy wraps his arms around her, supporting her body as she slumps against his torso. She breathes out, trying to catch any sort of air that she can, relaxing into Bellamy’s grip.

“You’re all I see,” Bellamy whispers into her ear. “We’re going to get through this.”

“Together,” Clarke’s hand comes up to back of his head, slowly brushing through his curls as she catches her own breath.

Clarke could stay there, wrapped in his arms forever. Bellamy makes no protest to move either, and probably wouldn’t. Had there not been a pounding on a door, one that was sure to have gone on for longer than they noticed.

“Bellamy!” Echo’s shrill voice shrieks through the door. “I know you’re in there, with _her_.”

Clarke detaches herself from Bellamy, against any of their better judgement. Bellamy staggers back as Clarke unravels a roll of toilet paper, cleaning up his come sticking to her thighs as it oozes out of her. She discards it in the toilet, not even flushing before she pulls down her dress and walks to the door.

“Clarke,” Bellamy cautions. “Maybe we shouldn’t–”

She opens the door, and not only is Echo standing there, but their whole group of friends. Echo’s mouth falls open as Bellamy scrambles to zip up his pants. To his credit, he does give her a sheepish expression, but it’s quite useless. Raven is fuming, holding onto Echo’s forearm like some sort of life support, Emori’s covering Murphy’s eyes and Monty is occupied helping Harper finish her cheese fries.

Clarke smiles warmly at her friends, the whore of less than a month and Raven. This isn’t a game, not when it comes to her and Bellamy’s relationship. But if it was one, it’s safe to say that Clarke would win.

“Hey guys,” Clarke greets them, hair disheveled, dress hanging off her shoulder and Bellamy’s come still slicked on her cunt. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to celebrate.”

* * *

Bellamy’s clothes are still unpacked. They’ve been in that duffle bag, that Clarke’s confirmed is hers, for the past three days. His designated drawer is open, as it has been for three days, but completely empty. The two of them have spent the weekend catching up on lost time, so the untouched clothes isn’t really any of their concern. It’s not like they’ve really been wearing any.

Clarke rolls off of Bellamy, sweat slicked against their bodies. Normally, she’d lose count of how much they’ve had sex after getting back together. It’s usually never-ending and concludes with some sores and aches in some very uncomfortable places. But they really only had sex the first night, and just talked while cuddled in each other’s arms, granted – naked. They’d been productive, eager to work on what’s been a tribulation in the past.

Bellamy rolls onto his side, pressing his lips to Clarke’s temple. “I wish we’d figured all this out sooner. Skip the mess of the past month.”

“That’s on you,” Clarke smirks. “You made the mess.”

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to cave. I forget how stubborn you are.”

“My apologies your absurd plan to make me jealous was prolonged.”

“It still worked, didn’t it? Not that I’m proud of it–”

“I am,” Clarke grazes her lips against his. “Nothing is sexier than making sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Bellamy grins into the kiss. The afterglow of the sex and the culmination of endless conversations ironing everything out should be exhausting, but Clarke’s just elated to have him back. To recognize that their faults are natural, only detriments if they don’t work them out together. Just like she knows it’ll always be the two of them, she knows their eighth breakup will be their last. She doesn’t plan to let him go ever again.

He presses a quick kiss to her lips before pulling away, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ll make sure to come straight back here after work, okay?”

Clarke groans, earning a chuckle from Bellamy’s lips. She steals another quick kiss, sinking into the comfort of her pillows and pouting. Bellamy stares down at her with so much love and adoration that she may just combust. She wants every morning to start with him looking at her like that. Especially after not having it for a month, she doesn’t want to go a day without seeing his face.

“Come back with the rest of your clothes,” Clarke comments.

Bellamy squints at her. A playful smile dances across her face, but the vulnerability in her eyes tells him she’s serious. He breaks out into a cheesy grin that he can’t contain.

“Are you asking me to move in?” Bellamy teases.

“Unless you’d like to pack up my duffle bag with your clothes again,” Clarke mocks.

Clarke giggles as he attacks her with kisses, powdering her face with his lips from her forehead, to her cheeks to her nose and then finally, her mouth. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him back down to her.

“If we stay like this any longer, I won’t make it to work,” Bellamy murmurs against her skin, not that it stops him from planting kisses everywhere.

“Don’t worry,” Clarke giggles. “We’ll send your boss our fun, little tape as an apology.”

“Wasn’t enough to let our friends see all of you, but got to show my boss, too, huh?”

“Would you like to make a sequel instead?”

Bellamy chuckles, showering her with more kisses before he envelops her lips once more. They wrap themselves in each other’s limbs, captured by nothing but one another, and it’s like they’re the only two people that dare to exist.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!:)
> 
> If you'd like to be apart of/submit a prompt for The 100 Writers For BLM Initiative, the link to their carrd is right here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeeOl9f7leh2TkkdL-CQ4XNULnKMKU3j9K5XLLMGphNKdJu6g/viewform
> 
> I'm on Twitter! @virgohotspot :)


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